


The Price we Pay (For Family)

by TheGayDhova (TheChosenDhova)



Series: A Family that Feeds (Stays Together) [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail learning to cook, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beginning of a beautiful relationship, Brief but strong Transphobic language, Creepy Cordell, Feels, Gore, Hannibal Lecter to the Rescue, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Little bit of shy Will, M/M, Part 2, Prologue, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Rape/Non-con Elements, Talks of Cannibalism, Torture (mentioned a bit), Trans Male Character, Trans Will Graham, Unwanted groping/touching, forced shave, non-con drugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 22:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15423444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChosenDhova/pseuds/TheGayDhova
Summary: On a happy mid-evening night, Will ponders over how his and Hannibals relationship finally began after escaping the clutches of one certain Mason Verger and his sadistic doctor, Cordell Doemling. He can't say it will ever be a good memory, but it did end up bringing the family together in the end. So yeah, Worth.Part 2. Don't necessarily need to read the first part, but it may help set up the universe. Enjoy!





	The Price we Pay (For Family)

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are important!!
> 
> A lot kind of goes down in this mini flashback, and you'll see better how I've changed cannon. No Red Dragon, and Will never turns Hannibal away after he's rescued from Cordell.  
> There will be some heavy non-con touching of the face and chest to poor Will, but most if not all things are still referred to with masculine terms, mainly due for my own comfort while writing. 
> 
> But there is some Transphobic language, so if it may hurt or trigger you, please be safe! You are Valid and all bigots will be eaten with soup here!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, and let me know what you want to read about next from our Murder Family!

The sun was warm against Wills back as he lazed in the comfortable rocking chair in the living room, set on purpose to face towards the broad kitchen archway. His hands were also warmed by a mug of coffee, still freshly steaming into his relaxed face as he breathed the scent of it in.

He can’t recall the last time he’s felt so at peace with himself and with life in general.

Or perhaps he can, as he silently watches his husband and daughter move about in the kitchen in the early morning hours. The enjoyment he gets from watching the two interact never ends, and he sips contentedly on Hannibal’s home-brewed recipe.

“Ah, not so hard Abigail, you don’t want some to break off into the whites—“ Hannibal is explaining in a soft tone to Abigail, both standing above the stove.

“But it’s so hard to keep the yolk from falling out! Can’t you just do it Dad? I’d learn better seeing it done.” Abigail replies, and it’s clear as day how she’s just trying to get out of making breakfast. It’s the one meal she has yet to fully learn under Hannibal’s tutelage.

It’s been a few months since Will’s completely healed from his surgery, and during that time all has been perfect. Or as close to as it could be.

It’s been a while since they’ve had a family hunting day, after all. Will’s certain that will change soon though, as the last of their special ‘meat’ is going into their protein scramble today.

Will sighs, smiling at the two from his viewing point, relaxing further into the chair, glad he’s not being dragged into the cooking today after effectively burning last night’s dinner. He swears he didn’t mean to, but whatever. He lived before just fine on cheap food and microwaves. Living with Hannibal has quite certainly changed that however. He doesn’t think he could ever go a day without anymore.

Since he has it, he now takes the time to delve into his mind, not afraid anymore as it’s become peaceful over the years. Or more grounded, at least. He remembers now, when he finally began to see what it was that Hannibal saw in him. What they could be together. Of course, that didn’t fix everything right away, but it was what started this whole life since leaving behind their lives from Baltimore and Wolf Trap and Minnesota.

The day Will had finally realized his feelings for Hannibal…

0000000

He barely remembers why he did it. Why he pulled out the small knife, walking side by side with Hannibal down the streets of Florence.

 _You’ll use it, to stop him_ ; his rational side said.

 _No, you won’t;_ his heart replied.

He never did get to find out what side would have won over, however. He should’ve known Chiyoh would be watching. Waiting. She was right to not trust him, and most days he’s glad she shot him down before he’d had to make a decision. The pain was excruciating, but all he can remember is Hannibals’ strong arms catching him before he could fall, slowly leading him away from the streets and to his home.

He felt numb afterwards, drugged and weakened by the very man he set out to stop _(Or see. He just wanted to see him again.)_

He was helpless to block out Hannibals’ hurt. That, he remembers clearly. The clinical cleaning of the shot wound in his shoulder; The way he slipped his shirt off his shoulder just enough to get at it (—Please don’t notice my chest, please don’t notice—), before bringing Will over to the dining table, strapped and drugged and as helpless as when this all began so many years ago.

Will was so tired of it all. Hannibal was right to kill him. Anything more than curiosity never would’ve survived long between them. Hannibal would grow bored. Will would want to change him.

So he didn’t fight it. Didn’t even react when Jack fucking Crawford himself was brought to sit across from him. He didn’t care about any of it anymore. Hannibal needed restitution, and Will would let him have it.

As the bone saw was brought out, closer and closer to Wills forehead, his gaze met Hannibal’s one last time.

 _I’m sorry. I forgive you_ ; it said.

He doesn’t know what staved Hannibal’s hand that day, why he froze on the spot and really looked at Will. Will, who was so, so, tired. Bruised and beaten and so small looking strapped to the wooden chair in his vast dining room.

The bone saw made a loud thud as it was set down on the table top.

He’d turned to Jack then. Words were said, but Will doesn’t remember what. Just that in the next few seconds, the door had been busted in and a blur of figures crashed through armed to the teeth to take out Hannibal Lecter in his very home. A bash to the head had Will out like a light.

000000

Another setting; Spaces of time lost over the travel.

Another dining table.

More words said between hosts, as Mason Verger bragged of his victory over the Chesapeake Ripper and his favorite morsel to play with, Will Graham.

Of fucking course it’d be Verger, Will laments. Who else would have the audacity to intrude on such an important moment between himself and Hannibal? He doesn’t know what became of Jack; if he was brought along too, or killed where he sat strapped to Hannibal’s table.

The thought has him vaguely return to the present, where he and Hannibal are sat currently strapped to the nines into some kind of fancy mobile hospital chairs. Mason was going on about something. Food, Will thinks.

Oh, Wait. No, they’re talking about him now. About eating Hannibal with Wills face.

What kind of shit was Mason _on?_

 _You don’t care_ ; Will reminds himself. _You’re nothing now._ A sacrifice waiting to be made for Hannibal to do with as he pleases. Not for fucking _Mason Verger_.

His awareness comes back at the thought, his fiery eyes turning to a man who has stepped up to him, hand reaching out to turn Wills face to him. _No_ , he thinks. _I’m not for you. I’m for **Him**._

With more strength then he knew he had, Will struck out as the man leaned towards him with a jar of something smelling of lotion. He was as quick as a snake, teeth seeking and finding its prey. He ends up biting into the fat of the man’s cheek, tearing out a chunk as he tears out screams along with it.

He leans over to the empty plate in front of him, spitting out the slab of skin with a wet splat. Warm blood runs down his chin as he looks over to Hannibal, a smile full of reddened teeth.

_See? Do you see?  I can be like you. Nobody has me but you._

Hannibal does indeed have a proud look on his elegant face, and Will preens.

Their ‘dinner’ comes to an end after that. Men dressed in black wheel them away, separately this time. As will starts to become more aware, so does his panic. This whole situation was getting out of hand, and now that he can think clearly, it’s become apparent that he’s in some deep shit.

He’s left on his own waiting in what he assumes is a guest bedroom of the Verger estate for some time, able to stew and sweat in typical Will Graham fashion. He’s worried what will happen, but more so he’s concerned for Hannibal. He vaguely recalls something about torture, and even though Hannibal would never give away any hint of fear, he knows neither of them are going to get out of this unscathed (if alive at all).

After about what feels like an hour or two, the man he bit a chunk out of returns, alone and with the same jar of lotion-or-something in his hand.

There’s a bright white patch of gauze covering his right cheek, redness just barely peeking out from beneath. Far from feeling disgusted, Will actually feels proud of what he’s done. He feels like he’s finally on Hannibal’s level of not giving a shit.

“Ah, good to see you more awake, Mr. Graham.” The man says after a moment, looking at Wills taut figure still stuck in the chair. “That will make things go more smoothly, if you will so kindly work with me here and allow me to do my boss’s bidding.” His tone of voice and choice of words make Will cringe at such forced fancifulness, like the man was trying to emulate Hannibal himself. Will held back the look of disgust felt at the thought, and instead clears his throat, swallowing down the fading taste of blood and dry-mouth.

“Wh…what, do you want?” he asks.

The man is wisely hesitant to approach Will so carelessly this time, as he sets up a little tray next to Will with the jar. He tries to read its label, but it seems to be written in something foreign that he can’t pronounce. He keeps his face calm and relaxed as the man’s presence looms over him.

“I’ve been assigned to keep your face in top condition for the upcoming procedure. I’m sure you heard what Mr. Verger plans on doing with it.” He explains. Will just nods, not sure what to say. After a second, he continues. “I’d advise cooperating, Mr. Graham. You’ll be requiring a quick shave and this special lotion I brought just for you.”

Wills heart clenches at the words _Shave_ and being touched in general by this stranger. He hasn’t shaved since…he can’t even remember. His facial hair doesn’t grow that long, and thus always just looks like stubble; But it’s _his_ and he worked hard for it in order to pass as a man, damnit.

“I don’t think so, Mr…?” Will states, trying to keep his breathing even and calm.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself in all the excitement of Mr. Verger’s. I’m Dr. Cordell Doemling. You can call me Cordell, Will. After all, you’re effectively under my care until the surgery.” Cordell says, his body moving about as he brings out utensils for shaving. A three-bladed razor, cup of water foaming with soap, and a dry washcloth on the little tray beside Will.

“I don’t think so.” Will says, voice firm as he shifts his wrists in their binds on the chair’s arms.

But Cordell doesn’t listen; he just goes about until he has everything ready at hand, before suddenly turning to Will and grabbing the hair at the back of his head in a tight knot. Will tries to hold back his gasp of pain, but Cordell’s holding his head so far back his neck starts to strain almost immediately.

“It wasn’t really a request, I’m afraid. For your cooperation, either. Now, let’s get started shall we?” he says, all chipper. Like he isn’t about to get a man ready for his face to be surgically removed.

Will blanks out then, eyes gazing at the high ceiling as his face is lathered in shaving cream, effectively cleaning him of Cordell’s dried blood. The process goes by quickly, and Cordell’s effectiveness leaves him with no cuts or nicks. With each trip of the blade over his jaw and neck, he feels like he can feel as every hair is removed one at a time. His eyes are wet, but he refuses to cry in front of this man.

 _Just you wait_ ; he thinks. _If I weren’t strapped down…I’d use that razor on **you**._

The thought jolts him. He’s really channeling his inner Hannibal it seems. Well then.

The hand tangled in his hair stays there as the process goes on.

He hopes Hannibal is faring well enough. Will never wanted him to suffer. Not like this, and definitely not under the grubby paws of Mason Verger and this Cordell lackey.

With the clink of the razor knocking against the side of the cup, it seems Will is now officially facial hair-free.

“There we go. All done. That wasn’t so bad was it?” Cordell asks, almost cheery as he wipes Wills face off with a dry cloth. Will expects him to let him go now, but the hand stays in his hair. The ache has dulled by now, but Will really wants this man as far away as possible from him.

“You know…You look a lot softer without all that hair…” Cordell says, a lilt filtering into his voice. It makes Will drag his eyes to the man. He regrets it almost immediately. Cordells’ eyes look… _lustful_.

_Oh god._

“You almost don’t even need the lotion…You’re very pretty, Mr. Graham.” The man is saying. Will’s begging to feel sick at the look in his eyes, but he can’t do anything, can’t fucking move, as Cordell brings his big meaty hand to caress Will’s drying face.

— _So pretty. So smooth. Want it. To touch; to mold; to keep preserved forever. Mason’s going to waste this face on himself. I can enjoy it beforehand though…Dr. Lecter sure knows how to pick them…_

The thoughts and emotions flit vaguely into Wills head as he takes in Cordell’s darkening eyes, the way he gropes his face, stares at his pale neck like he wants to just dive in. Will would puke if his neck wasn’t currently bent backwards in Cordell’s grip.

“Stop.” He whispers, voice weak.

This couldn’t be happening, Will tries to convince himself. After everything, being molested by some sick doctor (far from ever being like Hannibal no matter how much Cordell thought he was and tried to be). Of all the shit that’s gone down, he never saw this one.

And he used to pride himself on _Seeing_. What a joke.

And the words. _Pretty_. It brings back way too many memories of past men trying to flirt with a Will who thought _he_ was _she_. Those men always made him feel pity for them. Will had only ever been interested in women until he met Hannibal. And even then, they didn’t exactly have a romantic relationship. Barely even a friendly one, at this point.

But Cordell’s groping and gazing and lusting made Will realize how much worse this could get if they undressed him.

Shit.

Heart pounding, Will could do nothing but breathe hard as he was touched for seemingly minutes on end as the Dr.’s hand was traveling lower onto his neck, towards Will’s loose shirt collar. Wills shoulder ached terribly when he tensed, holding in his breath as he waited for the inevitable to happen. He zoned out best he could, not wanting to be mentally present now or ever again. Cordell was still going on about Will’s looks, even applying the cold lotion to Wills face in firm, violating strokes. It all made Will feel condescended on, but more-so just sick to his stomach.

Finally, finally, after minutes of this intimate torture, there’s three hard knocks on the door, making Cordell pull away from Will with lightning speed to go about cleaning up the supplies.

A henchman steps into the room, spoke something other than English fluently, and exited just as quickly. Cordell sighed and gathered up his tray of items.

“It seems we’ve run out of time for now, Mr. Graham. I’ve got to attend to our other guest. Make yourself comfortable if you can, it’ll be some hours before Mr. Verger is done with Dr. Lecter.” Cordell reaches out one last time to touch Wills cheek, who in turn leans as far away as possible. “But don’t worry. I’ll be back, and then we can get on with the procedure.”

With that, Will finds himself suddenly and utterly alone again.

0000000

He’s left waiting for hours.

He can’t even begin to imagine what’s being done to Hannibal, and he’s even more surprised that he actually cares so much. The man had been ready to open his head up with a bone saw for fucks sake. And Will would have let him, too.

But Hannibal had put the tool down; had looked at Will like hurting him was the last thing he wanted to do, and Will—Will wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He knows what it is, realistically. He’s just not ready to admit it yet. Maybe in a few hours, as he’s being peeled alive, he will be.

Trying to at least relax enough to get his shoulder to stop aching, Will sits and waits for his captors to come for him. All this being left alone has left him with too much time to think.

It’s what he’s best at, after all.

With attempts at getting out of the restricting chair long gone, Will is actually glad when the room door opens suddenly to a different henchman dressed in black. Really, how cliché _was_ Mason to hire these guys?

Before long, he finds himself wheeled into a seemingly vast room with a set-up that makes his breath stop once more. Whatever this room had originally been is long gone, and now replaced by the intimidating items of a make-shift surgical ward. The lights above are piercing in brightness, and make the metal table in the center reflect like a mirror. There’s trays set up between the metal table and an empty chair, with an saline bags attached to an IV stand. Will assumes the chair is for Mason, and the table for himself.

The whole thing makes his blood run cold.

“Hello again, Mr. Graham. It seems Mason’s ready for us to begin now. He wanted me to inform you that the procedure is going to take place without anesthesia, but I will be subduing you with a paralytic substitute. If you’ll wheel him next to the table, please Mr. Greeley.” Cordell says to the man behind Will. The man takes him over with an affirmative grunt, before Cordell dismisses him.

A small mercy at least, that he won’t be subjected to more strangers’ eyes upon him. But worse, because now Will’s alone with Cordell once more. Will can only watch in trepidation as the doctor pulls out a syringe and vial, getting it filled in one swift motion.

“Wait—“ Will tries to say, but he doesn’t even have time to struggle as Cordell comes over and plunges the needle into the side of his neck.

The effect is almost immediate, as Will feels numbness spread out from his neck to shoulder and on. The terrifying part of it all is that he can still _feel_. The straps are hard against his sagging form, sweat gathering as he tries to fight it.

Of course Mason would want him to be able to feel everything that was about to happen. After everything that Hannibal had done to him (helping his sister be free of him, drugging and making him eat his own _face_ off), Will knew Mason wasn’t going to hold back on anything he thought Hannibal held dear. Which he supposedly thought Will was part of.

Will is helpless as Cordell approaches again, beginning to undue the leather holding him. The man talks as he does so, explaining what was going to happen in that sickeningly chipper manner of his.

“I’ll be prepping you shortly here, but just to be on the safe side I’ll have to strip you down to sanitize for Mr. Vergers sake. Of course, he figured it’d add some well-deserved humiliation on your part. Can’t say I’ll complain. You’re a fine specimen, William.”

The worst thing that could’ve possibly happened was finally about to.  He was paralyzed and helpless, about to be stripped and outed in the process. Maybe he’d let him keep his boxers, or maybe he’d not care about his prominent chest. But maybe’s wouldn’t help him in this situation whatsoever, and as Cordell began to unbutton his shirt from his limp body in the chair the reality set in.

Will would shudder if he could, the use of his full name coming from Cordell all sorts of wrong to his ears. What will Cordell do when he finds out? When he’s undressed Will enough to tell that he’s not like most other men.

But it was inevitable, and as his shirt was pulled away, Cordell did in fact make note of the abundant fat on his chest.

“What’s this Mr. Graham?” He comments. Will can only grunt, his anger and spite growing in place of being able to move, face red with rage and shame.

“Fuck you.” he tries to say, but it mostly comes out garbled.

“Gynecomastia, perhaps? Plenty of men can have it, Mr. Graham, no need to feel ashamed. I’m just surprised is all. You have such a nice figure…so…Womanly.” Cordell goes on.

_Fuck you. You know **nothing**._

Will hopes that’s all Cordell will think it is, but his luck is running out as roving hands undue his pants belt and button. He can’t even twitch a finger as he’s suddenly hefted up in thick arms around his bared torso, pressed so grossly close to the bigger man chest to chest.

It all feels so far away, yet so close. He wants to fade back into drugged oblivion, but he also doesn’t want to leave his body alone for this creep to have at. In the end his choices don’t matter because Cordell is pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift tug, before laying Will down on the cold metal table before them.

Cordell steps back, and everything goes to hell.

He knows now; _he knows._

Cordells’ beady eyes widen at the sight in front of him. Will is laid out prone before him, naked as the day he was born, all of his secrets and vulnerabilities exposed for the taking.

“Ah, I see now. It seems your condition is more than it first appears, Mr. Graham. Or should I say Misses Graham?”

Will feels the first of many tears slide down his cheek.

 _No. **NO**. I am not a woman. I never was, and you will pay for ever saying so_. It’s a promise Will makes then and there, that he would rend Cordell apart slowly and as painfully as possible if he could only just _fucking_ move.

But he can’t move, won’t be able to for the foreseeable future. Masons’ plan to humiliate him really worked, it seemed.

Cordell just keeps looking though, looking and looking as he takes in Wills naked body. Planes of soft pale skin, only marred by the bullet wounds on his shoulders and the smile of a scar on his abdomen, curtesy of Hannibal years ago. Wills chest, still plump with fatty tissue, nipples raised from lying on the cold table and colder air. The light dusting of hair on his stomach going down to the V of his crotch.

Hormone replacement therapy worked wonders in certain areas for Will, such as his voice and height and body hair, but he never got around to working out on the right muscle groups to help his figure. He’d always wanted to wait till after surgery.

 _Too fucking late now,_ he tells himself.

The surgery he was about to be given now was far from what any sane person would want. But Wills’ face seemed to be the last thing on Cordell’s mind as he kept looking at Wills body just lying there, unable to move. He’s standing right over Will now, breath audible even to Will. The light gets blotted out when Cordell leans over him, one hot meaty hand coming to rest over his side.

Wills sweating is evident now, chest going up and down as the situation grows worse by the second. He can’t even call out to tell the man to stop, though he probably wouldn’t anyway.

“Shh, it’s alright. Mr. Verger doesn’t have to know.” Cordell says, his face inching closer to Wills. “In fact, he seems to be running late…There’s really not much left to do but wait…” his breath is hot against Wills cheek, as his hand wanders up his side, over shaking ribs, coming to rest at his chest, hand grazing over his plump left peck. Will can only grunt, but inside he’s fuming, sick, and terrified all in one.

This can’t be happening, he tells himself again. This has to stop…someone, anyone…. ** _Hannibal_**... _please!_ he wants to scream.

As if just the thinking of his name, Cordell suddenly draws back, giving Wills chest one more light pass before pulling away with a deep sigh.

“Ahh, but I guess I should get started…you wouldn’t bleed out for quite a while, and the IV stands are mostly for Mr. Verger. He doesn’t care what I do with the rest of you, after all…” Cordell says almost idly.

Will is just glad to have his breathing space back, and the creeps’ hands off of him. But he knows they’ll be back. And they are, with a wet cloth that smells strongly of cleaning chemicals. He uses it to wipe Wills face of sweat and tears, before coming in with a marker to dot around his face at his temples, forehead, and jaw.

With a scalpel in hand, Will knows what comes next, but he can’t seem to block it all out. Cordell rests his hand on Wills bandaged shoulder, before gripping his chin and turning his face to the side facing away, out towards the empty room.

Wills knows to expect pain, but he still can’t stop the gasp that escapes him when the blade is brought to his temple. He can feel every second of it as it’s dragged down slowly, deeply, leveled at his cheek—Everything is so quiet save for Wills frantic and pained breaths—when suddenly they’re interrupted and Cordells’ hand slips and he ends up straying from his pre-drawn line and cutting just under Wills cheek in a curve.

Grunting, Will can’t turn to look at what the commotion was that jolted Cordell, but any hope of it being a rescue are dashed when someone is speaking in a rough foreign tongue—French perhaps, but Will is too distraught to care. Cordell calmly replies to whatever he is told, the knife clattering as it’s set aside; for now.

Cordell’s big hand turns his face back forwards, towards the ceiling and his looming figure.

“Well, it seems like we will be getting that extra time after all, Graham. Mason’s handling…a problem. Whatever it is, I’m sure they’ll work it out. But I’d hate to let this opportunity go to waste, wouldn’t you?”

Even if Will wanted to oppose, it’s not like he had the physical ability to object at the moment. But maybe not all was lost…What kind of problem could there be that required Mason just before his big plan took place? _Hannibal_ , was the only proper answer. Will just had to make sure to make it long enough to be rescued.

_If he even deserved to be…Gods he hoped so._

Surviving these next few minutes or more was easier said than done though, and as Cordell wiped up the dripping blood from the seeping cut on Wills face, Will honestly didn’t know if he had it in him.

Blood cleared away for the time being, the fresh cut was clearly visible, and after a moment of thought, Cordell leaned down to whisper in Wills ear.

“Think of this as payback, for taking a chunk out me earlier.” And then he dives in to lick at the wound. His tongue is wet and hot, stinging strongly as it glides over Wills temple and cheek. His face is held in place by a hand on his jaw and throat, while the other returns to running up and down his bare body.

“Mmmm. I can see why Dr. Lecter indulges so much in the art of cannibalism. You taste delicious…maybe I can add you to the meal along with him?” Cordell ponders aloud, drawing back a little to take in his paralyzed victim. He squeezes and gropes every curve of skin he finds, even going so far as to delve between Wills legs and grip his inner thigh.

Will would throw up is he knew it wouldn’t end up choking him.

He knows that if he survives today, that he’ll probably block out most of this event into the far recesses of his mind, along with any and all thoughts of his past self. That, and drown himself in so much fucking whiskey.

Hannibal would chide him for having such base coping skills, and the thought makes more tears spring forth.

Cordell is right in assuming the Doctors name has brought them about. He brings both his hands to Wills chest now, and squeezes so hard even Wills limp body jumps a little.

“I bet you wish he was here right now, don’t you? Does he even know? That you’re a freak, hiding such a pretty body behind all this fake ‘manliness’?” his words grow harsh, just as his grip is, as he spews them like venom. Will can only just barely bare his teeth in anger, eyes filled with hatred and fire.

 _And if I did?_ He challenges.

_He’d snap your neck like a twig._

Cordell just laughs at his reaction, a short mocking thing as he continues to bruise and abuse Wills body.

“Well too bad. Because he’s not here now. You’re all mine for as long as I want. He’s never coming for you, and right now I’m the only person you should be trying to plead to help for.”

Wills rage has no bounds by now, but it doesn’t blind him enough into missing the shadow appearing behind the foggy curtains behind Cordell’s back.

He feels like he can finally breathe now.

Are you sure about that?

“Are you sure about that?” Hannibal asks, figure molding forth from the curtains, as bare as he himself is.

He’s covered in blood and bruises, a frayed collar hanging from his neck and wrists. But right now Will doesn’t care about any of that, because Hannibal came for him, he actually came back for him. And now he’d get to see Cordell pay for ever thinking he owned Will.

Hannibal was the one who owned him.

Cordell didn’t get a moment more to react, as Hannibal dashed forward as fast as any predator going for the strike. And strike he did, going for one of the unused tools lying by the vacant chair. A pair of small scissors, about six inches in length, blunt at the tips but still just as deadly as Hannibal plunges them into Cordell’s thick throat. The man gags, taken by surprise and shock, as he falls back against the table Will is on. His hands grow bloody from trying to grip the knife, and Hannibal never gives him the time to achieve that as he steps forward to push Cordell to the concrete ground.

Will can’t see from his vantage point, still fully paralyzed, but he can hear it all clearly as Hannibal grunts, putting all his strength into grinding the blade through Cordell’s throat.

More gasping and gagging, before silence falls over the vast room.

Hannibal slowly rises from his kill, calm as ever and as put together as one could be while completely nude. It at least helps Will to feel on more even ground. He still can’t stop his heart from clenching as Hannibal finally looks at Will lying on the table.

“Hello, Will.”

Will grunts his own hello back, not sure what to say even if he could talk.

Hannibal doesn’t make any moves towards Will but he does seem to take in his bruised and flushed skin. Now that the threat is gone, his sweat is drying and causing his skin to grow goose bumps. It doesn’t seem as bad when it’s Hannibal seeing him, bare and vulnerable.

“I’m guessing you’ve been subdued with something?” he asks unnecessarily. Will can barely bring his head to nod once. Hannibal smiles at his attempt.

“Here, let me fetch you something to get you warmed up.” He says, before turning around and surveying the open room for clothing or blankets. When his eyes land on a doctors coat he walks towards the stand it hangs from.

In doing so, his back is bared to Will.

He gasps quietly at the sight of it. There is a giant brand burned into the flesh of Hannibal’s back, straight and center over his upper spine and between his shoulder blades. The symbol itself looks very familiar, and after a moment Will recognizes it as the Verger brand marking that’s on all of their livestock. It makes him sick, more so than when Cordell was touching him, that Mason dared to brand Hannibal as _Food_. Which is ironic, given who the man was, and what he did in his free time.

But it was Hannibal, and Will somehow still really fucking cared for him.

“There we are.” Hannibal says, voice soft and lilting as he places the jacket over Wills prone body. Will feels a vast amount of gratitude flowing inside him. “Are you alright Will?”

 _Is he alright?_ Will asks himself. He’d have to give it a few hours, let himself learn how to block out this whole event, and then get back to Hannibal.

Seeing his contorting expressions, Hannibal just smiles down at Will.

“Perhaps I should ask later, once you’ve had time to let the drug run out of your system.” He states. And yeah, Will thinks that’s probably best. The conversation would be a little too one-sided right now otherwise.

After watching Will for a few seconds longer with an unreadable look on his face, he finally drags his maroon eyes away and to his most recent kill.

“If you would allow me to, my Will, I would like to part with one last gift to Mr. Verger before he wakes up from where I left him.” Hannibal asks, and without really waiting for a response he goes to pick up Cordell’s heavy body and drags it over to the empty chair without breaking a single sweat.

Will can’t bring himself to look away as Hannibal proceeds to take the scalpel in hand and peel Cordell’s face off, inch by slow inch. The thought of “Too bad he’s not still alive” floats in the background of Wills mind. After about twenty minutes or so, Hannibal has deemed the work good enough as he pulls the loose skin off of the dead man’s face. It comes away smoothly, leaving behind a bloody mess of muscle and teeth and glassy eyes staring into oblivion.

“I will return shortly, Will. Just hold on for a few moments, please.” And once more Hannibal is gliding off behind the curtains to supposedly find Masons sleeping form.

For every second he’s gone Wills heart begins to race again, fearing he’s going to be left here for anyone to find, good intentions or not. After everything, he doesn’t want to leave with anyone but Hannibal.

He doesn’t have to fret for long, because Hannibal does return, the leather shackles gone and now adorned in loose sweatpants and….are those fucking flip-flops?? In all his imaginings, he never once would’ve thought to see Hannibal wearing such ‘atrocities’. Hannibal can clearly see the disbelieving mirth in Wills eyes, for when he approaches him, he smiles wider than Wills ever seen.

“Ready to go, my Will? I fear there wasn’t much I could salvage for us here in terms of clothing, but there’s a car lot just a building away, if you’ll allow me to assist in carrying you there?” he says.

By now, Will feels the strength to nod, once, but sure that he’d have it no other way.

Hannibal leans forward, taking the coat lying atop Will to tuck it around Wills sides, careful as he slipped his arms under his limp form at the back of his shoulders and knees. The air is cold on his backside, but at least he’s not completely bared to the world as Hannibal carries him bridal style out of the make-shift surgery room and into the snowy night.

0000000

It’s been about two hours since they’ve been on the road, and Will has just now regained the ability to twitch his fingers at most, and finally attempts to speak over the soft music playing from the car radio.

“Where..?” he tries to ask, fading off as his voice cracks. His throat feels as dry as the desert.

Hannibal doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he drives them on into the night, high beams breaking through the snowy fog outside.

“Wolf Trap. I figured, if we are to move forward and converse in a setting comfortable to you…that’d be the best place. We’re almost there; only about an hour more.” He explains.

Ah. Of course. Will can’t exactly complain, as it would be nice to see the place again after the last month or so.

Going off in a moment of irrationality to visit Hannibals’ childhood home…Running into Chiyoh and her prisoner there…Buying a boat just to go find Hannibal in Florence…Not knowing if he meant to end him or not when he did…Then Mason fucking Verger happening.

He misses his dogs suddenly, but knows they’re being taken well care of at a neighbors almost indefinitely.

So he just nods and continues to watch as the world passes them by from the car window.

It’s like blinking, and then remembers finding them making their way up to his home, dark and quiet in the middle of the night. He has no idea what day it is anymore, but could care less. Besides, Hannibal probably knows.

Exiting the stolen car, Hannibal comes around to help Will out. Wills attempt at standing on his own is thwarted quickly when his legs knock together and crumble under his weight, but Hannibal is there to catch him. Will finds himself being picked up once more, him arms instinctively coming to wrap around Hannibal’s neck.

“um…I can…” Will tries to say, face flushing red as he’s lifted behind the knees and back. Hannibal is all cordial as he walks them up to the front porch.

“Hush, Will.” Hannibal says softly, and Will huffs but lets himself go slack in the strong arms holding him.

“Key…under the matt.”

Hannibal just nods, and after footing said matt out of the way, he leans down to grab the house key with swift dexterity. Once inside, his sights set on the mattress still placed in the center of the living room. It brings a smile to Hannibal’s face that Will doesn’t see, and ever so gently, he sets his precious load down onto the bed.

Will gathers the strength to drag himself up the bed in order to rest his back against the wall, hands clenched tight into the white coat covering him before letting out a long-suffering sigh.

Hannibal returns to his side after wandering off, a cup of cool water in his hand. Will drinks it gratefully, flexing and testing all his muscle groups to help get movement back quicker. Standing on his own was still a faraway idea though, he knew.

Hannibal sits perched beside him on the bed, ever so attentive as if he’s just hosting on a regular night. Will would laugh if he had the energy.

When the glass is emptied, Hannibal sets it aside for him on the coffee table close by.

“So.” Will begins elegantly. He clears his throat and tries again. “I guess we should have that talk now, huh.”

“We can, if that is what you wish. Or we can simply rest for the night and decide on any big decisions once our heads are clearer.”

Will thinks about agreeing to that, because rest sounds pretty damn pleasing right about now, but he knows that sleeping on how things are will only make it harder to hash it out tomorrow.

“N-no. Now’s a good a time as any. So, let’s talk.” He says simply, challenging Hannibal to be the first to speak.

He should’ve known better.

“You came to find me Will. Why is that, do you think?”

A lot of answers rush through Wills mind at that, and he has to sort out if he wants to go with an angry response, a truthful one, or try to turn the question around onto Hannibal. But all of that seems like too much work right now, so Will just settles for somewhere between tired and determined.

“You left me bleeding out on your kitchen floor, Hannibal. Abigail had to deal with keeping my guts inside of my insides. Then you proceeded to run off with fucking Bedelia and send me ‘Get Well soon’ letters while Abigail was sent back to the ward and I had to recover for months in the intensive care unit. You tell me why I fucking came after you.” Will ends on. There. He said it all. Mostly. God knows there’s so much more to hash out between them, but it’s a better start than most.

Hannibal waits for Wills breaths to even out before replying in a calm and even tone, ever the apparent pacifist.

“In all due respect, my dear Will, you were the one who called Jack Crawford on me. I realize now that you had tried to warn me away, and that I did have the time and choice to leave. But I was not willing to leave things as they were. We had planned so much together, Will. At the time, I thought you had given it all up.”

Will swallows, suddenly feeling guilty.

No. NO.

He won’t feel guilty about past actions. Not when he’d thought he was doing the right thing at the time.

“You left us, Hannibal. I—I wasn’t…ok when you left. They don’t trust me around Abigail anymore, I haven’t seen her for so long now. Did you even think of her when you walked out? You could’ve…you could’ve at least taken her with you. She still wanted to be a part of this—of us.” The words seem to strike something within Hannibal, as he’s the one to look away first, off into the dark space of the living room.

“I see that now.” He says, so quietly. “I regret what happened back then Will. I was…very relieved when I saw you were healing, but deluded myself into thinking your beautiful mind has fared the same. You would have had every right to use that knife on me.”

Wills breath stalls for a moment, his heart fluttering at the words.

“I wasn’t going to.” He realizes now.

Hannibal finally looks at him, his dark eyes open and grasping to see if Will was telling the truth.

“Seeing you again…it made me realize how much I missed you. I would’ve let you do anything to me. I still might…” Will admits.

This is the first time that Will can ever recall seeing Hannibal stunned into silence. The man swallows, before a determined look takes over his face, lips thinning but firm.

“There is something I would like to do, Will. If you’d let me.”

Will wasn’t scared. Not anymore. Not of Hannibal, at least. Let the man eat him. Let him have the brain he’s found so interesting for years now and have it all be over with.

Will nods once. “What is it you want, Hannibal?”

“Let me take care of you.” is all he says.

Brows furrowing, Will looks on. “What do you mean?”

Hannibal shifts closer, his clothed thigh just barely brushing against Wills under the white coat.

“You’re hurt, with a drug running its course out of your system. I want to look you over, make sure that nothing will be lasting. Though I’m afraid there most likely will be scarring.” He says, gesturing to Wills face.

Will is surprised to say the least. Of all the things he’d expected Hannibal to ask for, it wasn’t this. Sure, they’d had a deeper connection than anyone he’s ever known, but never beyond friendship or comradery. Letting Hannibal take care of him tonight felt like allowing this, whatever it was that was between them, to become something more.

And god damn it, Will _wanted_ that. So bad, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life other than to just be himself.

“Ok,” he says, meeting Hannibal’s warm gaze. “Take me to the bathroom?”

Hannibal smiles, before carrying Will once more up the stairs without need for direction.

Will chuckles at the display.

“How strong are you, anyway?” he asks, a playful edge coming into his voice. As soon as he points it out of course, he can’t help but notice the muscles bulging as they lift him against a firm bare chest. The fine hairs there tickle his shoulder but he ignores it best he can.

“Strong enough.” Is all Hannibal says, a smile still gracing his lips.

In the small bathroom, Will is set on the toilet as Hannibal turns the tap of the tub on, letting the water run clear and warm up after months of no use. Thankfully house maintenance was a rare need here.

The time it takes for the tub to fill gives Will the opportunity to take in Hannibal’s state of health as well. He’s leaning under the sink, pulling out a med-kit that’s stored away there.

Wills hand moves without his knowledge or consent to the harsh red lines of the brand on Hannibal’s back. The man freezes, feelings the soft touch just inches away.

“He hurt you too…” Will whispers.

“It will heal, as all wounds do.” Is all Hannibal says, before coming to sit before Will, a gesture he realizes he’s long missed.

“But the brand…he marked you like—“

“Hush William. I know. And it’s ok. I should dare say it’s the price for playing with my food.” He says, even going so far as to wink.

Will huffs, settling back down.

“Is he dead?” Will asks, having almost not even thought of the man still being out there, alive. Able to still hurt them.

Hannibal shakes his head, a proud look pooling in his eyes.

“I believe Margot and Alana made sure he was taken care of… _appropriately_.”

Wills eyes widened, not having even known the two were at the estate.

“Jeezus.” He says under his breath. After a moment, he adds on: “You’ll turn a killer into all of us yet, won’t you, Hannibal?”

Hannibal says nothing, doesn’t need to, just smiles and goes about opening the med-kit. He pulls out four butterfly Band-Aids, the strong kind to hold deep cuts together. Without any thread and needles or numbing agents, he knows that’s the best they can do. The cut on his face doesn’t feel as deep now that it’s had time to congeal, but knowing he probably has leftover saliva from Cordell has him shivering in disgust. Hannibal notices, of course.

“Let’s get that cleaned up now, shall we? The man clearly had little idea what he was doing. Couldn’t even follow the line…” Hannibal is saying, more to himself as he takes a sanitary wipe out and softly wipes at the wound.

Will winces but lets it happen. He’s too tired to be standing in front of the mirror to do it himself anyway.

“One of the henchmen came in; Spooked him. I don’t know what was said…but I’m going to assume it had to do with you?” Will asks.

Hannibal hums lightly as he wipes away the residue of blood and ink of marker. “Ah, probably. Dear Alana came to my rescue, at the demand that I save you in return.” He offers.

Will shifts, thoughts flooding through at the words. _Is that why he came back for me?_

“Silly though,” Hannibal continues after a moment, “seeing as I would have come for you anyway, Will.”

Will doesn’t know how to process that, so he just lets himself be cleaned up effectively, as Hannibal moves on to check and undress his shoulder wound. It’s healing slower than normal due to all the movement and stress of the past few days. Hannibal leaves it out to air, and Will assumes it’s since he’ll be getting in the bath.

The tub is filled and warm by the time Hannibal is done looking Will over where the obvious wounds are. It’s the next part that he assumes will be harder.

“If you would like, the water’s ready.” Hannibal says.

Will hesitates for a moment, but says _fuck it_ after realizing Hannibal saw him earlier, and had even let himself be seen without same or remorse. Will at least owed himself this; he could be confident too.

Rising slowly from the toilet, Hannibal stood at the ready if he was needed, Will let the stolen doctors’ coat fall to the ground, where it frankly belonged—He could see spots of red drying on it.

Not wasting a moments breath, Will hobbles over and into the tub gently. He lets out a satisfied groan as the water engulfs him, and he’s happy to notice there’s even some soap bubbling up. He honestly didn’t even know he had any stored away. Always expect Hannibal to dig out the finer things, he ponders.

Hannibal’s warm presence sits beside him, nearly shoulder to shoulder with nothing but the lip of the tub between them.  The older man’s firm arm slides around the back of his neck, pulling warm water up and over it, the liquid pooling to roll over his collarbones.

Turning slowly, Will can feel a warm breath passing over his shoulder. He…likes it. The moment feels…sensual. Intimate.

Hannibal uses his other hand to grab a well-used but soft washcloth to rub over Wills arms. He’s slow and methodical as he does it, taking his time to clean every exposed inch of skin. When he runs out of everything above the water, he hesitates long enough for Will to notice in his relaxed haze.

Will turns slowly, face inches away from Hannibal’s, their lips even seemingly closer.

“Hey.” Will says dumbly.

“Hello.” Hannibal replies, lips spreading into a gentle smile.

Will’s never realized how soft they look. Or maybe he has, but just never admitted it to himself. Not even really thinking, he leans in, wet shoulder pressing against Hannibal’s, to kiss him.

It’s slow and mostly one sided, just a passing of lips over one another, before Will pulls away, face red and shamed.

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t—“

He’s cut off by Hannibal kissing him, full force and as passionate as everything else he does in his life. The breaths mingle and collide as their lips do, Hannibal’s tongue even questing into Wills mouth, who eagerly receives it. He brings a wet hand up to caress Hannibal’s face, wanting to feel every moment of this. He never knew kissing could feel so good, so intense and emotional. The few kisses he’s shared with women in the past, he felt like he was just sitting there, not sure if he was doing it right, if he’d brushed his teeth, or thinking about what he was going to be doing later. No, this kiss was nothing like that.

It felt like being consumed, but in a way that left him feeling satisfied as well.

They finally draw apart, slowly and reluctantly, a smile on both Will’s and Hannibal’s reddened lips.

“That…just happened.” Will laughs out, too relaxed to feel embarrassed or ashamed anymore.

“To think, all it took was a few years apart and some strong outside interference.” Hannibal comments.

Will lightly slaps the other mans’ shoulder, but still unable to wipe the smile from his face. Things settle down then, and Hannibal grows a bit more serious.

“Will, would you allow me to wash the rest of you? Nothing untoward, I promise. Too many things have transpired recently, and as much as I wish to take you to bed and make you mine right now, I would rather see you cleaned up and comfortable.”

Will blushes at the blunt words coming from Hannibal’s cultured voice, slowly relaxing back against the tub again.

“Y-yeah. Ok.” Will sighs out. “It’s not like you haven’t already seen it all.” He adds begrudgingly.

Hannibal shifts his seating to better face Will and tuts at him.

“I have never once thought less of you for your mind Will. Why would you think I’d do the same of your body?” he asks.

And yeah, that’s a pretty fair point, but still…

“Some people would argue the mind and the body are one in the same, Hannibal.” Will says.

“Then those people would be severely lacking in any kind of individuality, and I pity those who have to put up with them.”

The words make Wills eyes and heart both widen in surprise, and he can feel his body begin to relax once more.

“All right, all right. Get on with it then.” He huffs out, smiling all the same.

Hannibal treats the rest of his body just as he did his arms and shoulders, and Will is more grateful for that than he even realizes at the time. The feeling of Hannibal’s strong, warm hand washing away the disgusting touch of Cordell from his hair and body feels freeing, letting him forget the whole event for a much better one.

He rather likes these hands on him.

Clinical and effective, but gentle like any lover’s would be, Will finds himself leaning into the strokes and dozing off a bit to the sensation of being taken care of. He doesn’t remember the last time someone put this much care into his welfare, and can see it easily becoming addicting.

Hannibal’s voice jolts him when he next speaks.

“There, all done. Up now,” Hannibal says, guiding Will up from the cooling water. He groans at having to move, but is ultimately glad to be clean once more. “There we are.” One of his large towels is wrapped around him from behind, and Will grabs its edges to keep it up.

“Thank you.” Will says quietly, but sincerely.

“Of course, Will. I wanted to help, and you’ve let me.” Hannibal is saying, turning away to drain the tub.

“Do you…want me to return the favor?” Will asks hesitantly. He honestly doesn’t know if he even has the energy to keep standing, but feels like he should at least offer after such thorough care.

“It’s alright Will. Perhaps some other time, when we both have our strength back. I wanted to take care of you, and you let me. I noticed the extra bed in the room just outside. Please feel free to rest while I clean myself up.”

Will hesitates to move, watching as Hannibal readies the shower this time instead of the tub. When he’s dragging the edge of his sweatpants down Will quickly draws his gaze away, still too shy to be ogling Hannibal, even if the man had no shame whatsoever.

As he’s turning to leave, he catches his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. He takes a moment to look at himself, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, and his newly adorned and healing scar on the right side of his face over pale flushed skin. He’ll think on it later whether the new look bothers him or not, but it’s his shaven face that really catches his attention.

He’s actually pretty pleased to note that he still looks…manly. Maybe shaving could be a look he could get behind. Too bad it had to come about in such a drastic way. He sighs, ready to leave it at that, when he’s caught once more by the skin revealed from the towel. He opens it up more to get a better look, and is shocked to see dark finger-shaped bruises forming all along his chest.

Maybe Hannibal’s hands really couldn’t fix everything; Because suddenly it feels like he’s being groped and squeezed all over again to the point of pain by Cordell. He’s so lost in thought looking at his chest that he doesn’t hear or notice Hannibal leaving the shower, to come up behind Will and wrapping him in a wet but warm embrace.

“Nobody will _ever_ touch you like that again. If they do, they will not die as smoothly as he did, and I will make sure you get to take part in removing every inch of skin from their hands.” He whispers heatedly into Wills ear.

Will shudders at the shadow moving behind Hannibal’s dark eyes, but not like he would have used to before today.

Now, it just makes him feels safe. Protected. Possessed and loved all in one.

Will lets out a shaky breath, a small smile going to Hannibal through the mirror as they gaze at each other.

“I know.” he says, never more sure of anything that’s been promised to him.

0000000

“Will? Are you ready? Dinner’s done.”

Will is drawn forth from his reminiscing at the sound of Hannibal’s voice from the kitchen. He didn’t realize he’d zoned out that long…

He just smiles, gathering his now lukewarm cup of coffee up as he goes in to the dining room where the plates have been set up and food is being served by Abigail. She still has her cooking apron on, and a bit of dried egg-white on her cheek, but she looks proud and that’s all Will needs to see to know she finally got the shell trick down.

Hannibal is quick to join them as they all sit down and dig in, food as good as ever under Hannibal’s care.

Will watches and smiles, truly content with how the past has led to now.


End file.
